


dancing bears, painted wings

by reystars



Category: Anastasia (1997), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Anastasia AU, Boats, F/M, Trains, lost princess, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4695275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reystars/pseuds/reystars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriela Romanov was thought to have been killed alongside the rest of her family years ago. But now, there's a rumor circulating through the city of St. Petersburg that the princess survived the massacre and the Dowager Empress Marie is offering a 10 million ruble reward for the return of her beloved granddaughter. Enter Illya Kuryakin and Napoleon Solo, two con-artists that through a stroke of luck meet an orphaned chop shop girl named Gaby and convince her to travel to Paris with them to meet the Dowager Empress. The evil Rasputin is hell bent on killing off the last of the Romanov line, throwing everything he can at this unlikely trio as they travel across Europe. multi-chapter, slow burn.</p><p>(the anastasia au that you didn't know you needed until now.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Although I'm taking some artistic liberties, I'm hoping to stick pretty close to the movie (including borrowing some dialogue). Also note: Anastasia as a whole is not even close to being historically accurate, which is why I didn't mind changing her name to Gabriela.

_St. Petersburg, 1916_

It was the golden age of imperial Russia. In a glittering ballroom located in the palace at the heart of St. Petersburg, the Tsar Nicholas II sat on a glowing throne with wine induced red cheeks, his eyes alight as he watched the court celebrate before him.

His wife Alexandra sat beside him, her perfect curls bouncing around her face as she laughed. Throughout the room their children were weaving in and out of the hues of orange and purple fabric, dancing to the jovial music. The warmth within the room made the piercing cold night just outside the glass windows seem a distant dream. Snow was softly falling, melting as soon as it hit the panes. The whole scene seemed perfect; picturesque. Nothing could ruin this night.

The Dowager Empress Marie sat in a chair adjacent to her son’s. She watched all of her grandchildren dancing, having a wonderful time. Even little Alexei had found a partner, he was jumping around the feet of one of the members of their court. But she couldn’t help but notice one girl seemed to shine brighter than even the heaven-like glow of the room. Gabriela, the second youngest, was spinning in a circle with her sister, Olga. Her brilliant smile lit up her entire face, her brown hair escaping the royal fold of fabric nestled on her head like a crown.

Once she was tired, she ran to her grandmother, out of breath.

“Hello Grandmamma!” she laughed, a contagious thing. The empress tucked a bit of hair behind Gabriela’s ear.

“I love to see your beautiful face, child,” she said. Gabriela beamed at her.

“I have something for you!” she reached into the folds of her glittering robe and pulled out a drawing. She handed it to her grandmother proudly.

“Olga said it looks like a pig but she’s wrong, isn’t she, Grandmamma?”

The empress couldn’t help but laugh at her granddaughter’s spirit.

Behind the throne, a young blonde boy stood, watching the two of them. Illya Kuryakin was tall for his age, his forehead smudged from working the fire in the kitchen. He knew he was sure to get a lashing for sneaking away but the music and the colors had been too much a temptation for him. His mouth open in awe, he watched the spinning colorful fabric, listened to the clink of the glasses, and enjoyed the warmth of the room that was so different than the stuffy heat of the kitchen.

Illya watched the Dowager Empress hand the princess a small gold and green oval. She beamed at her grandmother and Illya could just hear them over the dull roar of laughter and conversation in the room.

“What is it?” the princess asked.

“A music box. It plays our lullaby---”

“To sing me to sleep when you’re away!” The princess embraced the empress, who slipped a necklace over her granddaughter’s neck. The princess held it in her hand, it glinted in the light as she read the inscription aloud.

“Together in Paris. Oh grandmamma!”

As Illya watched the two embrace he felt an ache in his chest. He’d never known any of his grandparents. He’d hardly even known his actual parents and even then, he never remembered them ever embracing him as the Grand Duchess embraced her granddaughter. He was torn from his thoughts by the sound of someone shouting his name.

“Illya! You belong in the kitchen!” With a jolt he realized it was Pietro, the head server and personal servant to the throne. When Illya didn’t respond immediately, Pietro sent one of the older server boys out to drag him away from the festivities.

Gabriela was still laughing with her grandmother when the room went cold.

The laugher and conversation stopped as a freezing wind swept through and blew out all of the candles, leaving the previously glowing room doused in a chilled darkness. All conversation had stopped, many were still holding wine glasses and glancing around in an uncomfortable silence. Gabriela held to her grandmother’s arm, looking over at her parents for reassurance. Alexei had run to his mother’s lap. Nicholas II stood up, looking across the room at a stranger who had entered.

The man walked into the room slowly, the click of his shoes the only sound in the room. He wore a dark, ratted robe, something that might have belonged to a holy man had it not been so degraded. His face was gaunt and sunken, his long dark greasy hair in one braid down his back. His sharp, rotting teeth were exposed when he smiled, an empty, terrifying thing. Gabriela did not recognize him at first, not until her father spoke.

“Grigori Rasputin.”

The Tsar spat the words out, echoing through the ballroom. A wave of whispers went through the crowd, someone dropping their wine glass in shock. Rasputin crushed it with his foot as he walked past, straight toward the Tsar. Nicholas stood tall, his eyes on fire.

“You are a traitor. Get out!”

Gabriella held tighter to her grandmother’s arm.

Rasputin responded with a crooked smile.

Nicholas stepped forward. “You have been banished. Leave at once.”

“No!” Rasputin’s smile turned murderous. “I banish _you_ with a curse. You and your family will die within the fortnight!” He grabbed his robe and spun, whipping it around him. Just then the giant chandelier hanging from the ceiling loosened.

“ _I will not rest until I see the end of the Romanov line forever_!”

Rasputin disappeared in a pillar of ominous green smoke as the ceiling fixture came crashing down, people screaming. Alexandra stood from her throne.

“The celebrations are over,” she announced, sounding strong instead of fearful. She walked to her husband and put her hand on his arm. “Come, Nicholas. He has no power here. Let’s put the children to bed.”

* * *

And so they did. Gabriela was tucked into bed that night by her grandmother, still feeling unsettled. The dowager empress noticed the uncertainty on Gabriela’s face and sat down on her bed.

“Grandmamma, Rasputin wants to kill us, doesn’t he? That’s what he meant when he said he wanted to see the end of the Romanov line forever.”

Instead of responding, the Dowager Empress picked up the music box from the bedside table. Gabriela was still wearing the necklace and she held it up to her grandmother to twist into the intricate music box, setting the tiny cogs whirring, plucking out the simple haunting melody. The Empress sang along, the familiar lullaby calming Gabriela. She squeezed her grandmother’s hand, looking earnestly up into her warm, worn face. “Goodnight Grandmamma.”

But the Romanov family would get no sleep that night. For outside the palace an angry mob was waiting and Rasputin had made a deal with the devil. The front gates were broken down, glowing torches and angry shouts followed the giant mob into the once glowing hallways. Gabriela was awoken with a jolt as she heard the crashing of windows and screams throughout the palace. In her pink nightdress she grabbed her coat and ran from her room, trying to avoid being trampled by the hysterical servants. She found her grandmother, who grabbed her hand. “Gabriela, we must go!” she shouted.

“Wait, my music box!” Gabriela remembered with a start. The dowager empress running after her she ran back to her room, diving over her bed to grab the small, round object that was so dear to her. A loud gunshot rang through the room as the dowager empress grabbed her heart. They were right outside the door. Gabriela held onto her grandmother, unable to breathe. Where were her parents? Her sisters? Little Alexei?

The two heard pounding on the door, men shouting, trying to get in.

A hand that was not her grandmother’s clasped her shoulder. Startled, Gabriela turned to face a tall blonde boy with bright blue eyes. His face was paled as he said, “This way, out through the servant’s quarters!”

He led them through Gabriela’s playroom and shoved aside her dollhouse, pushing on the wall. To their surprise it opened to a passageway. Just as the dowager empress stepped through, the door to Gabriela’s room broke down, the splintering wood sending a blast of fear through Gabriela, the music box slipping through her fingers as she stumbled toward the door.

“My music box---” She tried to say, but the boy pushed her into the servants quarters, shutting the door behind her. Just as he pulled the dollhouse in front to block the way, the men burst into the play room.

“Where did they go, boy?” A gruff man demanded. Illya grabbed a block from the top of the dollhouse and threw it at him, ready to fight. The impatient man didn’t want to waste any more time with this servant boy and hit his temple with the base of his gun, knocking Illya out cold, sprawled on the ground. They left the boy there as they searched the next room.

The dowager empress and Gabriela ran through the snow over the frozen lake near the palace. They had escaped the palace but the mob was still searching for the royal family and they knew they had to get further, further away, to the train station that was just past the lake. Gabriela could barely keep up, her feet stumbling through the snow. Her nose was numb, her fingers were numb, the cold night air seemed to pierce her right to her bones. That was nothing compared to the icy fear that came when Gabriela heard her name, shouted from a bridge above them. It was Rasputin.

He jumped off the bridge, breaking the icy surface of the lake and grabbing for her legs, pulling her down into the icy cold lake.

“Gabriela, Gabriela,” he muttered, suddenly realizing he was losing the surface. The empress grabbed Gabriela’s arms and pulled her out of his grip, leaving Rasputin to disappear into the black water.

As they reached the chaotic train station, Gabriela felt a shooting pain in her legs from the ice water, mixed with the frozen air. People were running all around, they reached the overcrowded train and two people pulled the dowager empress up onto the moving platform. Gabriela tried to run but the pain in her legs was stopping her as she watched the train pick up speed.

“Grab my hand!” The dowager empress shouted, tears in her eyes, desperately reaching for her granddaughter. “Take hold of my hand!”

“Grandmamma!” The snow was stinging her face as she tried to run, unable to force her legs to move fast enough. She felt her grandmother’s warm soft hands slip through her fingers as she got caught between two large figures, knocking her to the ground. Gabriela’s world went dark.

* * *

Hours later, Illya awoke in the palace. It was eerily calm, the scent of smoke and winter drifting through the air. He sat up, dazed, letting the blurry room come into focus. The royal family was gone. It wouldn’t be till later that the news of their deaths would circulate faster through St. Petersburg by word of mouth than by the quickest paper. All of them killed. With a sinking feeling he remembered the princess Gabriela, her frightened face, her messy brown hair. Glancing at the ground, Illya spotted an object shining in the early morning sun. It was the small, round object he’d seen the empress give her granddaughter. Gabriela’s voice echoed in his head, ‘ _My music box!’_. Scooping it up, he held it tight in his palm.

The Romanovs were gone.


	2. gaby finds a dog, a palace, and two obnoxious men

___Twelve years later…_

The sun was rising over the crowded, bleak city of St. Petersburg. Though it would take the sun a few more hours to actually penetrate the smoggy clouds and give the city decent light, in the overcast air there was a name being passed from person to person, whispered in an alleyway, hushed as someone purchased a share of cloth. It was a name, a name that hadn’t been heard in over ten years.

“Romanov. Gabriela Romanov.”

The police on their tall horses paroled the streets, forcing the citizens to discuss this fresh new gossip in hushed tones. There was nothing the police could do, however, to stem the energy as the chatter spread further, heightening the regularly gloomy energy of the industrialized city covered in soot. Ten million rubles, that was the reward being offered by the Dowager Empress Marie—now living in Paris—for the safe return of her beloved granddaughter, Gabriela.

Many of the workers in St. Petersburg spread the news while clocking in to their disconsolate shifts at each monotonous factory. There may be a surviving Romanov. The idea that one young princess had somehow miraculously escaped the fates of the rest of her family was fresh indeed. Not to mention, ten million rubles did not sound bad to Napoleon Solo. Not bad at all.

The man with the neatly waved dark hair and charming smile wore a dark coat as he strolled down one of St. Petersburg’s many crowded alleys, his leather shoes splashing in the grey tinted slush of the snowfall the previous day. He bit into his apple (not as good as the ones he was used to) as he reached one of the below ground marketplaces and ducked under a low clearance doorway making his way through the marketplace.

With the emergence of this new rumor, items from the palace that had been ransacked so many years before and lost their significance and usefulness suddenly skyrocketed in value. People were bartering over fabric supposedly taken straight off the back of Nicholas II, or some fur that came straight from the palace. Solo took another bite of his apple.

A woman with a large nose and missing multiple teeth shoved a small snow globe in Solo’s face. Inside was an image of the princess Gabriela, one of the few portraits that had survived and had been reprinted in the newspapers in light of the announcement from the Dowager Empress. Solo took it from her, examining the princess’ young face. The image was faded and not very clear but she had long dark hair, dark eyebrows, and tanned skin. Good to keep in mind when looking at the women who were auditioning tonight.

“Snow globe?” the woman grinned, making the spaces where her teeth should have been more prominent.

Solo waved his hand. “No thank you. However, if you’d please, I’m looking for my friend. He’s a tall, broad, blonde fellow. Probably wearing something like a grimace on his face.”

The woman’s face fell into something like indignation. She jutted her thumb toward a corner of the underground shops, toward a dilapidated wall. “He’s right over there.”

Solo wondered what on the list of infinitely irritating and intimidating things Illya did to people had been chosen to inflict upon this woman. In a moment of spontaneity he tossed her a couple of coins and she handed him the snow globe, which he slipped in his pocket as he walked in the direction she had indicated.

Sure enough, the woman had spoken true. His begrudging partner was leaning against a back wall, arms crossed, surveying the crowd with what looked like intense scrutiny (though Solo knew it was more likely pure irritation). His suspicions were confirmed as he approached and received a scowl from underneath Illya’s signature brown brimmed cap.

“You’re late.”

A bite of the apple. “I was hungry.”

Illya glanced around before pulling three train tickets out of his jacket pocket. “I have the tickets,” he said. “The government makes things more and more difficult each year but these should suffice. And your end?”

With a cheeky grin Solo pulled the snow globe out of his pocket and tossed it to Illya. He caught it in his hand easily and rolled it over, his eyes darkening as soon as he realized what it was.

“Very funny,” he said, no humor in his voice. “I’ll let you know that woman was propositioning more to me than just a snow globe.”

“I have the theater reserved,” Solo continued. “It was a bit pricey but I left fake names. So far I’ve had over twenty-five women sign up, hopefully there will be more by tonight.”

“I’ll meet you at the theater at 7 o’clock. The one near Bartok’s cook shop?”

Illya waited for Solo to respond, he’d fallen quiet as someone wandered too near their conversation. Illya had despised Solo when he’d first met him only a few weeks prior. He’d tracked him down after hearing through the grapevine of Napoleon’s successful schemes and connections with the Royal family. His complete antagonism faded to more of a vague constant irritation, putting up with Solo because he knew that his only ticket out of St. Petersburg to fully leave his past behind was trusting this man, as cocky and annoying as he could be.

Napoleon continued, once he was sure no one was in earshot.

“That’s the one. I promise not to be late this time,” he said with a wink. Their business done, Solo turned to leave but paused, turning over his shoulder to an indifferent Illya, leaning against the wall.

“You might want to hold onto that snow globe.”

* * *

“One ticket to Paris, please.”

The short, brown haired girl looked extremely confident for someone who had no idea what she was doing.

Leaning forward, the man behind the dirty train station window leaned forward, scrutinizing her. She was wearing mismatched layers and was holding a dog.

“Exit visa?” he asked gruffly.

“Exit visa?” Gaby responded, trying to quickly think of an excuse as to why she didn’t even know what that was.

“Oh, _exit visa_?” The man mocked, batting his eyelashes. Then, suddenly, “NO TICKET.” He slammed the window shut, forcing Gaby to quickly move her gloved fingers out of the way to avoid them breaking in the impact. Those who were in line behind her grumbled and scattered to the various other ticketing lines, leaving Gaby standing in front of the vacant window holding her new dog and no way out of St. Petersburg. The sudden rejection forced her to contemplate how she’d gotten on that crowded, damp train platform.

There was Phlegmenkoff yelling at her at the chop shop, which was now _who knows_ how many miles away. There was Gaby, fed up with being an orphan with no future, working in a place where she was constantly reminded that she’d be a nobody forever. Then there was Phlegmenkoff sending her with money to the fish factory to pick up an order. After that she had reached the crossroads and taken a right, the road leading toward St. Petersburg and not the fish factory. In just one moment Gaby had left behind everything she’d known for the past ten years, and she didn’t feel an ounce of guilt about any of it, not even about keeping the money. Phlegmenkoff owed her a paycheck anyway.

And then there had been a lot of walking.

Gaby hadn’t been to St. Petersburg since an old couple had found her wandering the streets there as a young girl with no idea of who she was or where she’d come from. They had been kind enough but could not take care of her so they brought her to an orphanage which, in turn, dumped her into the chop shop when she’d become a burden. Gaby didn’t mind the hard work; she was good at it. But it was never enough, and never did anything to fill that ache in her chest.

About halfway through her journey to St. Petersburg, Gaby had begun to doubt herself. Her pace slowed, she wrapped her purple scarf tighter around her neck, and before she could keep into those thoughts a small figure popped out of the snow bank. It was a tiny dog with flappy ears and dull golden fur the same color as the necklace that hadn’t left her neck since she’d been found. Right then and there she named him ‘Pooka’ and he was hers. They’d made it to St. Petersburg together, enchanted by the business of the city and the sheer amount of people milling around. Gaby was smart; she’d found the train station quickly. But she still didn’t know what an exit visa was, and now she was stuck.

Pooka, nestled deep in her arms and enjoying her thick winter coat, popped his head out and looked at her questioningly with big eyes. Before she could reassure him, a voice came from behind her.

“See Illya Kuryakin.”

Gaby turned around to face a woman. She was shorter than even Gaby was, with wrinkled skin tugging at her sharp cheeks and whispy hairline. Phlegmenkoff had been ridiculously wrinkled too. Gaby always had to bite her tongue about it though, she’d always wanted to tell the old hag her wrinkles came from the devils dragging her down to hell.

“He can help,” the woman continued, her eyes darting around. “He’ll be at the old palace. But you didn’t hear it from me!”

Before Gaby could ask any other questions, the woman was gone, disappeared into the crowd.

“The old palace,” Gaby murmured to her dog, who was falling asleep. “Could be a good place to start.”

* * *

 “I DANCE LIKE FEATHER.”

The booming voice came from and extremely broad shouldered redhead, standing on the center of the stage. Her voice was deep and raspy, as if she’d been breathing too much of the St. Petersburg smog, which Illya assumed was probably true for most of the girls who had come and gone through the audition. His hand was wrapped around a dark piece of charcoal tensely and he scratched her name out without a word to Solo, who seemed like he had a migraine coming on.

“Thank you. Next please.”

A lanky woman with short blonde hair walked on stage wearing a giant fur coat.

“Grandmother,” she said in a deep, sultry voice. She dropped her coat to the ground as she spoke, revealing some strange sort of sailor girl outfit. “It’s me… Gabriela.”

Illya scratched her name off as well, Napoleon’s jaw was on the ground.

As they left the theatre that night, Illya crumpled up the long list of hopefuls and threw it in the trash as Solo locked up the back door to the theater. They both put their hands in their pockets and walked down the street.

“That was awful,” Illya said gruffly. “Not one of those girls even came close to looking _or_ acting like Gabriela.”

Napoleon kicked a rock as they both passed under a lamplight. St. Petersburg was still surprisingly busy this time of night, they had to constantly walk around those they shared the sidewalk with.

“I’m sure we’ll find her, Illya. It’ll take some time. Let’s take a break and get a drink, _comrade_.”

Illya grunted but didn’t object which Solo accepted was as close to a ‘yes’ as he was going to get. They made their way through the city, stopping for a bottle of wine, and eventually found their way to the old abandoned palace. The place hadn’t been touched presumably since the revolution years ago and though most of it was bordered up, ransacked, and abandoned, Illya and Solo had found a place to squat while trying to find the perfect actress for Gabriela.

They entered through one of the many hidden doorways and made their way up to the giant room that they had taken over and Solo cracked open a bottle of wine while Illya started up a fire in the fireplace. They both sat in silence for a while, Solo dozing off in his tipped back chair and Illya staring at the fire, watching the flames lick the wood he’d collected himself. He’d only taken a few sips of his drink, never really liking the feeling of being drunk. He needed to be aware of himself at all times.

He heard a sudden crash somewhere else in the palace, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Did you hear something?” Illya asked, to no response. He repeated himself, louder. Solo nearly fell out of his chair.

“Mm, no?” Solo responded, still dozing off.

“I think there is someone in the palace.”

Illya stood up, purposefully tipping Napoleon out of his chair. Together, their search of the vast hallways proved unyielding and they were about to give up when Solo heard a barking sound coming from the main ballroom. Illya hoped it was simply just a stray animal that they’d simply have to chase out. They weren’t so lucky. The two of them reached the giant oak doors opening into the ballroom and pushed them open. In the center of the ballroom there was a girl wearing ragged clothes and a light brown cap over her messy brown hair. Most of it was pulled back and sticking out from under the cap but her choppy bangs framed her tanned face.

She was staring up at the paintings lining each wall with her eyes narrowed as if she was trying to solve a puzzle.

“What are you doing in here?” Illya called. His deep voice echoed across the empty ballroom, startling the girl. Instantaneously she ran toward the huge staircase, the small dog following behind her.

Napoleon and Illya ran after her.

“Hold on a minute, hold on,” Solo shouted in a much friendlier voice.

The girl stopped at the top of the staircase, slowly turning around.

“How did you get in h---here?” Illya’s voice faltered as her face came more clearly into view. She had a slightly upturned nose and heart shaped lips and although Illya knew she was probably beautiful under the layers of dirt, what surprised him more was her striking resemblance to the massive portrait of Gabriela hanging on the wall directly behind her. The girl shrugged.

“Solo, do you see what I see?” Illya whispered and Solo shook his head. Illya shoved him to the side so that the girl and the portrait were side-by-side in his view. It took him a split second but his eyes widened in realization.

“Yes!”

The two of them walked up the stairs to meet her at the top. Her arms were firmly crossed and she was glaring at both of them, probably angry at being startled.

“Are one of you Illya Kuryakin?” she asked. Illya got closer, realizing how much smaller she was than him. He didn’t come too close but he circled her, examining her physical structure. She was extremely similar to the portrait. It was uncanny. “Depends on who’s asking.”

The girl didn’t look uncomfortable but she did look annoyed as she turned, watching Illya examine her. “I’m looking for travel papers.” When he kept doing circles, she snapped.

“What, were you a vulture in another life?”

Solo grinned, clearly adoring this girl already.

“We’re sorry,” he apologized, always the gentleman. “You just look an awful lot like… did you say something about travel papers?”

The girl nodded, fiddling with a long golden necklace hanging around her neck. “I’m trying to get to Paris.”

Napoleon shot a look to Illya, who had stopped circling but was still examining the girl intently. “She’d like to go to Paris,” he repeated with emphasis.

“Paris, hm?” Illya said, crossing his arms. “What’s your name?”

“Gaby,” she replied. “I was told that you’d be the one—”

“Is there a last name that goes with that?”

Gaby sighed. “This is going to sound crazy but I don’t know my last name. I was found wandering around when I was eight years old.”

Napoleon shot Illya another look. The timeline fit.

“And before that?” Illya pried. “Before you were 8?”

Getting annoyed with the interrogation, Gaby threw her arms up. “Look, I have very few memories of my past, okay? But I have one clue and _that_ is Paris. Are you going to help me or not?”

“You know,” Solo said, his hands gripping his suit vest, “Oddly enough, we’re going to Paris ourselves. We have three tickets,” he said, pulling them out of his vest. Gaby reached for them but he pulled them away. “but the third one is for the princess Gabriela. We’re going to reunite her with her grandmother, the Dowager Empress.”

“You know, you do look a lot like her,” Illya said, stepping forward and lifting up her hand. “You even have the Grandmother’s hands.”

“And Alexandra’s brown eyes,” Napoleon added. Gaby stared at the both of them before realizing the tall blonde man was still holding her hand. She pulled it away.

“Are you trying to tell me that you think _I_ am the Grand Duchess Gabriela?” she said, stepping away.

“You’re the same age, the same physical type,” said Solo, who had picked up Pooka and was absentmindedly petting him. “I knew you were crazy from the start but now I think you are both mad.”

She moved forward to take her dog and find some _other_ way to get to Paris, one that didn’t involve traveling with two crackpots, but the taller one—that was Illya, wasn’t it?—grabbed her arm gently to stop her.

“You’re looking for family in Paris. Her only family is in Paris.” Gently he turned her around to face the large portrait behind her. It was one of a young girl wearing fancier clothes than Gaby had ever seen in her entire life. Logically, Gaby knew how miniscule the chance was that the girl in the portrait was her. But she couldn’t deny the similarities in the hair, the nose, the eyes. There had been something familiar about the palace ever since she’d first stepped foot inside.

“You don’t know what happened to you, no one knows what happened to her,” Napoleon said from behind the two of them. “Don’t say it’s never occurred to you.”

Gaby turned around and reached for Pooka, taking him from Napoleon’s arms.

“It’s kind of hard to think of yourself as a duchess when you’re sleeping on a damp floor every night but sure, I’m sure every girl dreams about being a princess.” She resisted the urge to stare at the portrait again and instead kept her narrowed eyes on Illya, who had begun to ascend the steps.

“Really wish we could help but the third ticket _is_ for Gabriela,” he said. A flash of confusion crossed Napoleon’s face before he followed his partner down.

“What are you doing?” he hissed in an angry whisper once they reached the bottom of the stairs. A glance over his shoulder revealed Gaby was turned around, looking at the portrait again. “Why didn’t you tell her about our plan?”

“Relax,” Illya replied, a little bit insulted. But when wasn’t he? “I have everything under control.”

And then, just moments later, a shout.

“Illya, wait!”

Gaby was quickly walking down the stairs after them. Her dog was chasing the purple scarf that was trailing on the floor behind her.

Illya stopped, a smug look on his face. The two men turned around, Napoleon ignoring Illya’s silent victory.

Gaby reached them.

“If I don’t know who I am then whose to say I’m not a princess or a duchess or whatever she is. And if I’m not, it’s all just an honest mistake.”

“But if you are,” Napoleon added, “You’ll finally know who you are and have your family back.”

Gaby took a breath and then shook his hand. She turned to Illya, shaking his hand, surprising him with how strong her grip was.

“Gentlemen, start your engines, we are going to Paris!”

* * *

___As the three of them left the ballroom to celebrate their new discovery with the remainder of Napoleon’s wine, something else stirred, deep below the palace in the underground catacombs. A restless soul trapped for eternity by a curse, one meant to rid the world of the disgusting Romanov line forever. And yet,_ he _was still there, suddenly awoken by the presence of the girl in the castle above. His hands gripping the glowing green reliquary he saw in the reflection a view of the palace and the dark haired girl enjoying a drink with her two unlikely companions. In the morning they’d board the train, he knew. And that train would never reach Paris._

_He’d make sure of it._


	3. Chapter 3

Gaby was staring out the window at the snow-covered trees. Every time she tried to focus on one it was gone in a blur of snowy white and dark brown. Although spring had to be just around the corner, St. Petersburg and the surrounding area had to always be covered in snow. Gaby’s eyes were out the window but her thoughts were elsewhere. What she’d left behind, what could possibly lie ahead of her. Though her face remained neutral, she was thinking of everything in Paris that could possibly go wrong. And what could go right. She wasn’t sure which scared her more.

In the same compartment, Napoleon was near the door, leaning back casually. He was putting the finishing touches on their fake passports, the blue ink dripping off the feather as he paused to tickle Pooka’s stomach with it. Gaby slouched down, crossing her arms and watching the two of them but not really seeing anything. Her mind was still on Paris, and she absentmindedly touched her necklace as she kept running through the worst case scenarios, the least of which ended with the train crashing dramatically.

She hardly even noticed Illya entering their compartment. He moved to sit by the window across from Gaby but Pooka yipped at him, snapping his teeth.

“Mutt gets the window seat,” Illya mumbled under his breath, instead being forced to take the seat next to Gaby. She was looking out the window again, playing with her necklace.

“Stop fiddling with that thing,” Illya said. “Sit up straight, you’re a grand duchess.”

With a glare, Gaby slid lower into her seat.

“How is it that you know what grand duchesses do or don’t do?”

He didn’t, but he was sure it wasn’t glaring at people all the time and being stubborn.

“I make it my business to know.”

Suddenly Gaby sat up straight, turning toward Illya with a sly smile.

“Illya, do you really think I’m royalty?” she asked.

“Of course I do.”

The smile was replaced with indignation as she snapped, “Then stop bossing me around!”

Illya couldn’t think of anything quickly enough to respond so he just huffed and crossed his arms, almost at the exact same time as she did. The both glared away from each other, neither of them noticing Napoleon pulling out a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. There were two columns, one labeled ‘Gaby’ and one ‘Illya’. Napoleon added a tally mark to the Gaby column.

* * *

The train was able to huff along in peace for the next hour or so, and Gaby enjoyed every second of it. Napoleon had given her a book about Paris full of maps and interesting sights to see. She kept accidentally rereading the same line over and over again, admittedly extremely distracted by all the exciting possibilities that awaited her in Paris. As she was reading she decided to try sitting like a grand duchess ought to, holding the book up straight in front of her face. Though it caused tension in her back a glance in the mirror told her she looked much more royal when she wasn’t slouching. She read about the Eiffel tower, one of the tallest structures in Paris.

“Look I think we got off to a bad start,” said a voice. Gaby looked up briefly from her book to see Illya in the compartment doorway, so tall he had to lean down a bit to not hit his head on the sliding door frame. He moved to sit down across from her. Gaby’s eyes quickly flicked back to her book and in a cool tone she replied, “I think we did too, but your I appreciate your apology.”

She didn’t have to look up from her book to know he was glowering when he said, “Apology? Who said anything about an apology? I was just saying---”

“Look just don’t talk anymore, mkay, it’s only going to upset me,” she said, putting down her book. She wasn’t sure what it was about the tall blonde man that drove her crazy but her temper flared again when he spoke, his bottom lip jutted out in a grumpy way.

“I’ll be quiet if you will.” His arms crossed.

“Alright I’ll be quiet.” Gaby said, looking out the window and trying to ignore how much she wanted to pull his stupid hat off his head and hit him with it.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” Gaby had to get the last word in.

Moments later. “Do you think you’re going to miss it?”

Illya had finally been able to focus on the landscape when Gaby spoke again. He quickly snapped back, “What, your talking?”

“No.” she gestured out the window. “Russia.”

“No.” This was not a conversation he desired to have at all.

“But it was your home.”

“It was a place I once lived.” End of story. Gaby, however, could sense a bigger story. So she continued to pry, leaning forward with her hands on her knees, brown eyes wide and too transparent.

“Then you must plan on making Paris your true home.”

“What is it with you and homes?” Illya asked with the smile that he normally reserved for making Napoleon angry. It seemed to have the desired effect on Gaby because she stood up, dropping the book on the seat below. There was practically steam coming from her ears as she tried to push past his huge legs which were blocking the entire walkway between the compartment seats.

“For one thing it’s something that every _normal_ person wants. And for another…” Gaby was knocking his legs with her knees trying to make him move. When Illya didn’t budge Gaby threw her arms in the air in frustration, climbing over the seat to get around him. Just as she climbed off of the maroon leather seat Napoleon inconspicuously entered the compartment holding her dog. Immediately he could sense the tension as Gaby stormed past him, slamming the compartment door behind her.

“What did you do, Peril?” Napoleon asked with a chuckle.

“Me? It’s her!”

“An unspoken attraction,” Napoleon said to the dog. He said it partially because it was true and partially because he knew it would irritate Illya further.

“ _Attraction_? Have you lost your mind?” Illya stormed past Napoleon out of the compartment as well, walking in the opposite direction. Napoleon swore he heard Illya mutter ‘ridiculous’ under his breath. He grinned, relaxing in the now empty compartment. He had a feeling it was going to be a long, entertaining trip to Paris. Pooka was leaning on the cold window, fogging it up with his tiny breaths. Though Napoleon didn’t notice, outside the windows the red tinted twilight turned a shade of ominous green.

* * *

Napoleon was walking back from his third trip to the dining car when he passed a couple leaning in, discussing something together. Napoleon wasn’t a conscious eavesdropper, but it was a skill he’d carefully developed and had saved his life on a couple of extremely lucky occasions. He couldn’t help that he was good at it. So naturally when he heard one key phrase it almost stopped him in his tracks.

“Last year the traveling papers were blue now they are red.”

Napoleon looked down at the bright blue ink on their forged papers and swore. Down the hall he heard the deep echo of the train master, shouting “Papers please!”

He pushed past the couple, ignoring their scoffs, and hurried into their compartment. Gaby was sprawled across the seats on one side asleep, using Illya’s giant coat as a blanket. Illya was sitting across from her with his head in his hands. He looked up as Napoleon entered, immediately reading the look on his face.

Napoleon held up the papers for Illya to see and in a hushed voice said, “That’s what I hate about this government. Everything is in _red_.”

Illya stood up, “Red?”

Napoleon glanced at Gaby’s sleeping figure sympathetically. “I propose we move to the baggage car.”

“I propose we get off this train.” Napoleon started pulling their suitcases off of the overhead nets while Illya leaned down to wake Gaby up, shaking her shoulders.

Gaby’s hand reflexively smacked Illya straight in the nose with surprising force for someone who’s asleep. Gaby’s eyes shot open. “I am so sorry, I thought---”

She noticed it was Illya holding his nose in surprise, so she finished with “Oh it’s you, never mind, that’s okay then.”

Illya pulled her up off the seat by her hand quickly, grumbling, “I think you broke my nose.”

“Men are such babies,” Gaby muttered in reply, picking up Pooka, who was also enjoying sleep. He curled into Gaby’s arm and fell right back asleep, not noticing Illya pulling her down the hallway, following after Napoleon and the suitcases. They moved through a couple more cars, occasionally having to jump the coupled cables. Every time they exited the passenger cars Gaby could hear the shriek of the train’s metal wheels on the tracks. It seemed to be going faster than it should be. In a tumble of metal and wood they finally entered the baggage car which was still airy and cold, despite the lack of icy wind hitting their faces.

Napoleon dropped the suitcases, observing the space. Gaby held on to Pooka for warmth. Illya must have noticed because bad-temperedly he said, “She’ll freeze in here.”

Napoleon sighed. “She can thaw in Paris.”             

Gaby glanced around, eyes narrowed. “The baggage car? There’s not anything wrong with our papers, is there?”

Suddenly Pooka woke, jumping out of Gaby’s arms in a fury. He was barking at nothing when there was suddenly there was a deafening explosion, throwing all of them back. The three of them hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, Illya’s arms on either side of Gaby’s head, their faces inches apart. Startled, Gaby realized he must have stopped himself from crushing her with only his arms. Quick reflexes. Napoleon was the first one up, facing the giant gaping hole in the baggage car. They watched the rest of the train disappear into the cold winter mist as wind rushed around them.

“There goes the dining car.” Napoleon said despondently.

Illya rolled over onto the ground, out of breath. Gaby stood up, her ears ringing from the explosion, the wind whipping her hair into her eyes. The three of them turned around in sync to see through the window a terrifying warm orange glow coming from the front of the train. There were flames licking out of the top ventilator. The train was going way too fast.

“Illya, I think someone has flambéed our engine.” Napoleon commented, looking surprisingly well put together for almost dying. Illya walked forward and pulled open the door, Gaby right on his heels. He jumped the coupled cable and was climbing up the steel ladder to the top of the coal carrier car when he realized Gaby was climbing the ladder up after him. He looked down at her in alarm.

“What are you doing?” he shouted over the wind. “Are you out of your mind?”

Stubbornly, Gaby kept climbing up the ladder. When she reached the top the wind was so strong that Illya had to grab her arm to steady her.

“I’m a mechanic, remember?” she shouted. “I can help!”

They both walked across the unstable coals in the coal car, Illya still holding onto Gaby’s arm to keep her from being carried away by the wind. They both jumped down and Illya forced the door to the engine room open. Immediately they were both hit with a wave of heat. Inside the room it was overwhelmingly sweltering as Gaby tried to shield her face. The heat was so blistering it was shimmering through the room. “There’s no one here,” Illya said, holding the door open.”

Gaby was trying to examine the equipment when one of the pressure gauges burst into flames and she jumped back.

“This is useless!” Gaby shouted. “We need to get off the train!”

By the time they hopped back into the baggage car the train had continued gaining speed. Napoleon was rummaging through bags of tools and supplies.

“No one is driving this train!” Gaby said. The wind was getting louder; it was getting hard to breathe.

“Okay, we need to uncouple the car,” Napoleon said, pulling the door open. The metal tracks below were a grey blur, and the baggage car was welded to the main train.

Before Napoleon could even ask, Gaby and Illya were tearing through the supplies, looking for something to break the weld.

Illya handed Napoleon a wrench that sparked and broke upon impact with the metal. Napoleon tossed it to the side. Then Gaby appeared, calm and collected, and handed Napoleon a lit explosive. Both Napoleon and Illya’s eyes widened and Napoleon quickly stuck it in a crevice where the cars were coupled together. The three of them ran back behind some crates, waiting for the inevitable bang. Gaby felt Illya’s arm on her back as they ducked and he said, “What kind of mechanic were you, anyway?”

The small explosive burst with a bang and the front of the train sped forward without them. Illya ran over to the emergency break and tried to twist it, but it broke off.

“That’s fine,” Napoleon said with a shrug. “We’ll just coast to a stop.”

Then another boom echoed through the wind, this one further away. They looked forward to see just around the next bend of the tracks the front of the train had exploded, breaking up a bridge. They were going to speed right over the edge of a cliff. Thinking fast, Illya and Napoleon both grabbed a large chain. Hearing a bark, Gaby remembered Pooka was still hiding in their suitcases. She picked him up and held on to him as the men dropped the chain over the edge. The force of it yanked the train car to the side, the empty edges sliding through the powdery snow, creating a giant wave of white and grey.

“Well,” said Gaby, “This is our stop.”

Holds onto Napoleon and Illya’s arms and they all jumped into the freezing snow bank, suitcases flying everywhere.  When the wind and the screeching metal had settled they all stood up in time to hear their car fly over the edge, a soft boom echoing through the canyon. All three of them covered in snowy powder, they stood in silence for a few moments.

“I hate trains.” Illya muttered.

* * *

 

_The man watched the three of them walking along the snowbank with suitcases in tow. He shook his head with a frustrated scream, knocking the reliquary to the ground. How had they survived? How had they possibly survived? They were agonizingly resourceful. The man placed his head in his hands, rubbing his wrinkled temples. He needed another plan, a better plan. He needed time to think._


	4. Chapter 4

“So are we going to walk to Paris?” Gaby asked. The three of them were standing in the middle of a clearing just off of the train tracks, surrounded by scattered luggage. The sun was really setting now and Gaby was wrapped in two more layers of clothes, keeping out the biting chill. They’d been in East Prussia when the train had crashed and although they were far enough south that most of the snow was melted, it was still very cold. In fact, the snow had melted and then re-frozen into ice.

Illya was leaning against a tree, studying a map. Since he was the one with the directions, the question was directed at him. However, he seemed to not hear her, and his concentration didn’t break. He was cupping his chin with one of his massive hands, absent-mindedly rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. Something about the whole thing struck a nerve with Gaby so she turned to face Napoleon, who had popped one of the suitcases open and was rummaging through it. Pooka was nestled right under his legs, sharing his warmth.

“No, we’re taking a boat in Germany,” he said, pulling out various items of clothing. Gaby realized that the suitcase didn’t belong to any of them. Noticing her slightly judgmental look, Napoleon rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “It was going to go down in flames anyway. I figured it’s about time we get you out of that tattered tunic.”

Illya became suddenly present to the conversation. “You mean to tell me while we almost died on that train you took the time to go through other people’s suitcases?”

“Relax, Kuryakin. I just grabbed the suitcases closest to me when we jumped and got lucky that this one belonged to a woman.”

Ignoring the utterly irrelevant conversation about clothes, Gaby walked over to Napoleon, kicking the suitcase shut with her foot.

“So we’re walking to Germany, then?” she asked.

Standing up straight, Napoleon dusted his hands off on his suit. “No. We’re taking a bus.”

“And where is that bus?” Gaby asked. She was hungry and irritated and to be quite honest, a little bit shaken at almost dying a couple of times.

“In a town a couple miles south of here we should be able to at least find some sort of vehicle to take us to Germany.” Illya added, folding the map and putting it in his jacket pocket. Napoleon went back to rummaging through the suitcase, pulling out a couple of scarves.

“You don’t think there’s going to be a bed and breakfast there, do you?” Gaby asked with a snarky lilt in her tone.  To her surprise, Illya shrugged. “There could be. But we need to get walking before it gets too late. I don’t want to camp in these woods.”

Napoleon pulled out several things he deemed unnecessary and snapped the small trunk shut, handing it to Gaby. “There you go. Whoever owned this suitcase was not doing very bad financially, it would seem, so once we find a place to stop we’ll start turning you into more of a duchess.”

Gaby grabbed the suitcase from him and picked Pooka up under one arm.

“Which way?” she asked, ready to get going. She didn’t want to stop and wait for the wolves to come.

Illya didn’t respond and started walking along the tracks.

By the time they reached the closest village the moon was high in the sky. The village itself was sleepy and small but when Illya pounded on the door of the hostel, someone answered almost instantaneously. It was a short man wearing a nightcap and thin wire rimmed glasses. He took in Illya’s looming figure and instinctively went to shut the door but before he could, Napoleon stepped in.

“Hello, sir,” he said, “Would you mind if we stayed the night? I’m not sure if you’ve heard news of the train that crashed not too far from here but we were fortunate enough to make it off.”

The man stepped back. “Oh yes, yes, of course, yes, come in, come in.”

The three of them stepped inside and Gaby took a deep breath in, grateful to be out of the cold and eager at the thought of resting her tired feet. There was a small fire in the corner and she walked over to it with Pooka, letting the boys deal with whatever accommodations were to be had. This whole trip was their idea anyway. Her stomach growled and she ignored it. The dining car on the train had been a luxury, she was used to being hungry. For just a moment she wondered what the Grand Duchess’ life would be like, never going without food again.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Illya, hard to make out in the dim firelight.

“They only have one room available. Come on.”

Gaby followed him upstairs, Pooka trotting at their feet. Their room was small, nestled in the back corner of the hostel. Napoleon pushed the door open and everyone’s spirits fell when they realized there was only one bed.

“I’ll take the floor,” Gaby offered before anyone could say anything.

“No,” Illya said, pushing past her and dropping his suitcase on the floor. “I’ll take the floor.”

Gaby moved to argue but Napoleon interrupted her. “I don’t think the Dowager Empress would be very happy to hear that we let her beloved granddaughter sleep on a musty floor. Kuryakin’s right. You take the bed.”

Gaby was almost too tired to argue but she couldn’t help it. “I’ve slept on floors my entire life. Tonight doesn’t need to be any different.”

Illya looked down at the small brunette. Though she was as visibly tired as any of them, she looked up at him with a fierceness in her eyes. He couldn’t help but imagine her curled up on the floor as a child, the same girl in the glittering clothes and the warm ballroom he’d only seen once, very briefly. She did look remarkably similar to the Grand Duchess Gabriela, she’d even inherited the same Romanov passion. This girl had slept on floors for as long as she could remember. Something in Illya’s stomach turned and he set his jaw. “You’re not taking the floor.”

Gaby looked up at him, crossing her arms. She looked as if she were going to come up with an alternate plan but then she settled. “Fine. I need to change. I’m sure there’s some sort of pajama in this suitcase.” That final note made it clear that the men needed to leave so Napoleon slipped the door open and the two of them went into the hallway in silence. Illya leaned against the wooden wall, unable to shake the sudden flashbacks of that night, the night of the uprising.

“She’s a feisty one, isn’t she?” Napoleon murmured with fondness. Illya nodded. “She certainly is her own woman.”

The two of them waited in the hallway for a bit, both of them nodding off slightly until they realized that they could no longer hear movement from inside the room anymore. Napoleon knocked softly and when there was no response, he cracked the door open. Illya poked his head in and saw Gaby had changed into flannels that were slightly too big for her and was curled up on the ground next to the bed. Her head was resting on Napoleon’s coat as a makeshift pillow, and she was using Illya’s coat as a blanket. Her mouth was slightly open and she was breathing softly and evenly enough that they both knew she was fast asleep.

Napoleon raised an eyebrow at Illya. “Should we try to move her?”

Illya knelt down next to her to pick her up and Pooka suddenly woke with a snap, trying to bite him. Illya jumped back and a satisfied Pooka comfortably settled back down across Gaby’s rising and falling stomach.

“She wins this one, I guess,” Napoleon said with a shrug. “Do you want the bed?”

Illya shook his head. “My legs are probably too long for it to be comfortable.”

Napoleon didn’t argue, and he was asleep just as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Illya settled on his back a small distance away from Gaby on the floor, using some extra clothes from the suitcases as a pillow. Sleep seemed unreachable in this moment for some reason and he closed his eyes, listening to Gaby’s soft, steady breathing, hoping it would lull him somewhere closer to drowsiness. Gaby mumbled and he rolled onto his side to see if she’d awoken. She was on her side too, her hand under her cheek, dark hair spilling across her face. Sound asleep.

He granted himself one brief moment to look at her in the moonlight, her normal glares and knotted brow softened by the lack of anything to antagonize her in her peaceful state. Something in his stomach knotted again and he turned away from her, falling into a restless sleep full of torches and fire and statues falling to the ground.

* * *

The closest town that offered a bus to Germany was in nearby Poland and was still at least an entire day’s walk away. Illya woke before anyone else and pored over his map, finally settling on the best route. Napoleon and Gaby woke soon after, both ready to get out of the tiny hostel and on the road. They bought some food from the hostel owner and set off on their long journey. The morning was slightly chilly but the further south they walked the more snow was melted. By midday Gaby even had to shed her outer coat.

The forest didn’t seem half as nerve wracking in the daylight. The way the light filtered through the trees creating patterns on the ground was even enchanting to Gaby.

They walked in comfortable silence for most of the morning until the sky warmed up and the conversation did too. Napoleon was very easy to talk to but trying to get anything out of Illya was like talking to a wall. They stopped a little after midday for a break to eat their food. They picked a nice covered bridge over a small running stream right outside the Polish border. Gaby and Napoleon were laughing about some of Napoleon’s romantic conquests.

“Ah,” Napoleon said, taking a bite of his sandwich, “But you’ll meet Mélie, so I tragically must report that nothing has truly ever happened between us.”

Gaby lay on her back, looking at the sky. She’d never been so free of responsibility before, her hands ached to be working on a car. She rolled over to face Napoleon.

“Who is Mélie?”

Illya, who had previously been unengaged in the conversation, shot Napoleon a warning look.

Ignoring Illya, Napoleon had a mischievous glint in his eye. “The Empress’ first cousin. The most beautiful girl in all of Paris.”

“And the only one who hasn’t bed Napoleon,” Illya muttered with an eye roll, taking a bite of his peach.

Gaby cracked half a grin at that.

“Wait,” she said. “We’re going to meet her? Not the Dowager Empress herself?”

Illya glared at Napoleon from behind Gaby’s back. They hadn’t prepared Gaby for this yet and with her fiery personality he knew exactly where this conversation was going.

“Well,” Napoleon tilted his head, gritting his teeth and stretching his bottom lip down in a slight grimace. “No one gets anywhere near the Empress without convincing her cousin first.”

Gaby stood up abruptly. “No one ever said that I had to prove I was the Grand Duchess!” Napoleon looked to Illya for help and Illya ignored him, pulling an apple out of their brown sack of food.  Napoleon stood up.

“We meant to tell you---” he started but Gaby interrupted, still in a flurry.

“Show up? Yes. Look nice? Fine. But lie?”

“You don’t know it’s a lie,” Illya said from the ground.

Gaby walked to the edge of the bridge and leaned her elbows on it, looking over the calm spring water. Napoleon followed her and leaned over next to her in silence for a few moments. Gaby turned to look at the charming man, his hair somehow still looking nice despite the chaos of the previous two nights. He was suave, he was interesting, he was clever. Everything a royal should be.

“You’ve spent your life becoming refined,” Gaby finally spoke. “I’m a mechanic. This is the longest I’ve ever gone without grease on my face in ten years. I’m not going to convince anybody.”

“Gaby,” Napoleon said without his usual charm. Instead he possessed the soberness of someone simply trying to comfort a friend. “I know you don’t think you’re exactly royalty. But I’ve never seen a more regal command in anyone I’ve ever met, including the Red Peril over there.”

Gaby glanced back at Illya who had his back purposefully turned to them. She looked back at Napoleon who still looked earnest. “There’s nothing for you back in St. Petersburg. Everything is ahead. In Paris.”

Gaby took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

“Okay,” she said, gripping the edge of the bridge. “Teach me how to be a princess.”

* * *

The three of them spent the rest of the day walking. They began with focusing on Gaby’s posture, which was awful considering how much time she’d spent with her back craned over the engine of a car. Napoleon instructed her on how to roll her shoulders back to straighten out her back and extend her spine. She put a lot of effort in trying to hold the position, feeling absolutely foolish, but she tried anyway.

“Do not walk, try to float,” Illya suggested, resting his large hand on her upper back to give her more support as she walked. Gaby wondered if it was the stress of trying to keep her posture so perfect or something else that made her breath catch. When Illya removed his hand she could still feel the ghost of it as she kept walking, her focus muddled. She let out her breath and sighed, “This shouldn’t be so hard.”

“Don’t worry,” Napoleon reassured her. “It will become more natural as you practice.”

And practice they did. They had Gaby balance on her head anything they could find (sometimes sticks, sometimes Pooka) as they instructed her on what to say and not say, court manners, and a whirlwind of other subjects that seemed to go in one ear and out the other. Gaby’s determination seemed to always beat out her frustration and she eventually began to really learn the names of all of her supposed extended family members, which came to her a little easier than learning how to curtsy.

They practiced table manners on the back of the hay car they caught once they finally reached Poland, sitting on the poking stacks of hay as it honked its way through many small towns. Gaby thought it was a little superfluous to practice eating from a bowl that almost spilled on her every time the car hit a pothole, but Napoleon insisted that if she could learn how to eat in the back of a moving car a table would be easy.

As silly and frustrating as some of the ‘lessons’ seemed, Gaby couldn’t deny there were some moments she found she was really enjoying herself. The weather was so nice now, there were tiny flowers poking up out of the sides of the road and the sky was the same shade of blue as Illya’s eyes. The car took them two towns over where they transferred to a horse drawn trailer that took them further west. They eventually hitched a ride on the back of another, smaller motor car, where they quizzed Gaby again on the names of all of her distant relatives, which Gaby aced.

She started to feel like she was actually remembering tiny details. But then again, maybe she was just convincing herself they were real. Soon enough they crossed the border into Germany, where Illya taught her how to ride a bike. Gaby was extremely proud of herself for picking it up so fast and took a moment to wonder, again, if it was possible she wasn’t learning but rediscovering. Faster than she expected they had reached the German coast where a giant grey ocean liner was waiting for them among the choppy waves. The ocean liner that would take them to Paris.

* * *

 

_The man watched the three of them board the ship in the hazy green surface of his reliquary. The girl was walking differently now, more confident, better posture. He despised it. But they'd been moving too fast through the countryside for him to really get a lock on them. However, now they were going to be enclosed. An easy target on a ship. And he finally had his energy back. He was ready to take care of that Romanov girl for good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be putting in more detours from the original story (like their overnight stay) because there's so many time jumps that I feel like I have a lot of liberty to just have fun with it. Let me know what you think! :)


	5. Chapter 5

The massive ocean liner had the word ‘TASHA’ printed on its side in bold yellow letters. Partially a passenger ship and partially a cargo ship, the cabins were relatively small and located close to the upper deck. When the three of them reached their room they discovered there were only two beds, bunkbeds. Since the ship was so small, there was absolutely no way Illya would fit on one of the smaller beds and so it was mutually agreed that he’d take the floor again. The ship wasn’t meant to depart for another couple of hours so Illya disappeared back into town and Napoleon entertained himself by finding the on deck bar, but not before warning him, “If the ship leaves without you, Gaby and I are still going to Paris.”

As soon as her bags were dropped off, Gaby wasted no time in exploring the ship and all it’s cabins. She loved the upper deck, just a flight of stairs away from their room. The sky was a cool shade of blue and the sea was grey and choppy below, the salty ocean air tasting completely different than the musky St. Petersburg air she was accustomed to. Out of habit Gaby absently touched her golden necklace and wondered if this was the first time she’d ever seen the ocean.

Gaby stayed up on the deck as the low rumble of the ship horn echoed twice, signaling its departure. It moved forward slowly and she held onto the edge of the deck as she watched as the ship cut through the waves, glancing back to see the foam in its wake.

When she finally decided to head back below deck she ran into Illya in front of their cabin door. He was holding a wrapped package.

“Glad to see you made it in time,” Gaby said, surprising herself by how sincerely she meant it. Illya held the package out to her.

“I um, got this for you.”

“What is it?” she asked, tearing the paper off. She saw folds of light blue fabric and pulled it out. It was a dress.

“I thought you’d like something actually in your size,” he said simply and Gaby looked up at him in astonishment. He almost looked nervous.                                                                                                                                                                                               Gaby lifted the dress open, looking in the skirt. She could see Illya’s face through the open neckline, looking quizzical.

“Looking for something?” he asked.

“The Russian circus. I think it’s still in here,” Gaby remarked.

Illya rolled his eyes and tossed the dress toward her.

“Just put it on.”

Gaby watched him walk up the stairs towards the upper deck, shaking his head. A hint of a smile crept on her face and she disappeared into the room.

* * *

Sitting in front of the white chess pieces, Illya moved his knight forward with a concentrated brow.

“Check,” he said in a low voice.

There was slightly salty taste in the air, the cool sea breeze is blowing pleasantly across the deck. The sun cast everything in orange hues as it lowered itself over the horizon.

Napoleon groaned, moving his bishop to take Illya’s knight. Exactly as Illya had anticipated. He used one of his pawns to take Napoleon’s bishop, leaving him with almost no defenses left.

“I hate playing chess with you,” Napoleon said, moving one of his pawns forward pointlessly.

Gaby walked up onto the deck, Pooka on her heels. Seeing the boys hunched over the chess table she cleared her throat expectantly. Napoleon looked up from the game immediately, his eyebrows raising. Her golden necklace glittered against the deep blue fabric of the dress that Illya had given her. Her hair---finally washed and dried after days of travelling---was in soft curls and tied low behind her neck.

“You were lovely before but I’m glad you’ve finally washed off the Polish countryside, eh? Although I don’t think your belt particularly matches… must have been Kuryakin’s work.”

Gaby snorted and Illya looked up to glare at Napoleon. He finally noticed Gaby in the dress, causing him to look back down at his chessboard quickly. Stepping forward, Napoleon spun Gaby around, her skirt flaring out as she twirled. “I think now would be a perfect time to teach the Duchess how to dance, don’t you think, Kuryakin?”

Without even looking up from the board, Illya responded, “I don’t dance.”

Arms crossed, Gaby marched over to Illya. She picked up the white queen from the chessboard, locking it in her palm. “I thought you were supposed to be helping me, hm?”

Illya looked up at her, placing his palm face up. “Give her back to me.”

A defiant fire in lit in Gaby’s eyes, her head tilted to one side. “That’s not very polite,” she said.

“I’m not saying please.”

“Too bad,” Gaby said and the small white piece went flying over the side of the ship. Illya stood up quickly, watching it disappear from view. Napoleon laughed. “She certainly has a regal command.”

Illya was fuming. He crossed his arms. “I can still beat you, queen or no queen.”

“Come on Illya, she needs to learn how to dance.”

Taking a deep breath, Illya stepped out from behind the table. “Fine.”

A small, triumphant smirk appeared on Gaby’s face and remained there as Napoleon instructed them on the proper posture for a waltz. Illya’s hand was high on Gaby’s back, right between her shoulder blades. Gaby couldn’t help but note how big Illya really was, his hand taking up so much space. After instructing them on the proper steps, Gaby was ready to go. She pushed Illya forward causing their combined energy to clash against each other.

“Gaby, hold on,” Napoleon said, stopping them. Gaby dropped her hands quickly and stepped back. “Let him lead.”

They looked at each other. With surprising tenderness, Illya lifted her hand back into position and carefully placed his hand on her upper back. Though it took her a moment, Gaby finally forced herself to relax, letting Illya lead. Illya took a few hesitant steps, slowly turning them in a circle. As he became more comfortable it became more evident that Illya wasn’t a terrible dancer after all. He spun her out and around, catching her, pulling her close again.

“The dress… It looks… looks nice on you…” Illya said softly, looking down at her. Gaby didn’t break his gaze. They traveled across the deck, Gaby following each of his steps. His hand gently fell lower on Gaby’s back, closing more of the space between them, their steps slowing.

“I’m getting dizzy,” Gaby said. They were so close that her head barely brushed his chin and he could smell the slight perfume of whatever she’d washed her hair with, and something else. The same smell that had lingered in his coat that night she used it as a pillow.

“Maybe we should stop,” Illya said. Although he dropped the dance posture he held onto her hands, so small in his large ones.

“We have stopped.”

Gaby didn’t mean to whisper but their faces were so close. As if Gaby was the center of everything, Illya felt himself being pulled forward, unstoppable. Her eyes fluttered shut.

A bark from below snapped Illya into the moment and he stepped back abruptly. Remembering who he was. Remembering who _she_ could be. Gaby opened her eyes. Realizing he still had a hold of her hands, Illya dropped them and cleared his throat. “You’re doing fine,” he said as he turned, walking away without looking back.

Gaby frowned as she watched him go. She gave Napoleon with a questioning look and all he said was, “I was beating him at chess. Maybe that just put him in a bad mood.”

“I need a drink.”

They shared a few glasses until the sun had gone down and the deck became too chilly to bear. The stars were obscured by clouds and the wind was picking up so they disappeared below deck to their somewhat warmer room. When Gaby cracked the door open she saw that Illya was already on the floor asleep, using their suitcases to outline a bed and his coat as a pillow.

As the night wore on the ship shifted and rocked more and more. Napoleon was on the floor petting Pooka, casting a jealous stare in Illya’s direction.

“The bastard can sleep through anything,” he said and as if on cue, another huge shift in the boat knocked over Illya’s dark carpetbag and a small round object rolled out across the carpet, hitting Gaby’s bare feet.

Gaby picked it up, holding it in her hand. She admired the patterns, the pleasant emerald green color, the intricacy of it. It felt calming and familiar.

“Pretty jewelry box,” Napoleon said.

“I don’t think that’s what it is,” Gaby said, turning it over. She couldn’t see a way to open it.

Napoleon shrugged, climbing up into the top bunk. “Goodnight, your majesty.”

She turned the small round object over one more time, smiling softly. She carefully placed it back in Illya’s bag. Moments later she was in bed, Pooka wrapped in her arms. “Sweet dreams, Pooka.”

_The man watched as the girl fell into a peaceful sleep. Sweet dreams, indeed. He’d make sure of that._

* * *

_Gaby woke surrounded by a vibrant field of flowers. They were all the most brilliant shades of orange she’d ever seen and she sat up, inhaling their heavenly scent. Stretching her arms she sat up, completely at peace. She’d been worried about something. But what? That all seemed so ridiculous now. Glancing down the road she saw a small boy in a cap skipping toward her. As he got closer she realized who it was. Alexei. Of course, why would she have ever forgotten? She stood up to meet him._

_“Come on!” he said, motioning with his hand._

_She smiled at him, following him down the golden road._

Pooka woke with a start at the lack of heat in the bed where he’d been curled up. The door to their cabin was ajar and the small dog’s ears flapped in a flurry of panic. Immediately he detangled himself from the covers and skittered across the slanted floor, jumping on Illya.

Illya swatted the dog away, turning over, but the dog kept barking. Finally he rolled over, picking up the small dog.

“Pooka, what is it?” he asked, groggy from sleep. Lightning struck outside the porthole, flooding the dark room in a flash of light. Gaby’s bed was empty. Something was wrong. Without thinking Illya jumped up, rushing to the door, knocking over his suitcases. With the storm outside the ship was being thrown about and he hit the wall when he ran into the hallway, his shoulder pounding he ran up the stairs to the deck. They were slick with water.

Rain was coming down in such thick sheets when Illya reached the deck that he could hardly tell the difference between the water coming from the sky and the water coming from the ocean, the giant waves pushing themselves onto the deck. He needed a better vantage point. Holding on to the cold, wet metal he climbed up the small crows nest overlooking most of the main deck. His hair was plastered to his forehead and he pushed it out of his eyes, turning to survey the whole deck. The ship rocked violently again, almost throwing him off the crow’s nest but he grasped a rigging rope, his knuckles turning white.

He finally spotted her.

“Gaby!” he shouted over the hammering wind. She was across the deck near the front bridge of the ship. He could barely make out her light pajamas against the darkness of the ocean. She was just standing there, holding onto a rope. What the hell was she doing?

Illya climbed over the edge of the crow’s nest and used the rigging rope to swing down, barely missing a wave splashing into the side of the ship. Ignoring the wet burn on his palms he ran toward her, almost losing his footing. As he got closer he saw that despite the water running down her face her eyes were closed, the same peaceful look on her face as the night he’d laid across from her on the floor. She was sound asleep. And she was moving away from him, climbing up onto the edge of the balcony, inches away from the next giant wave that would come to swallow her, a slip away from falling into the ocean like that tiny, white chess piece.

Illya lunged forward, grabbing her around the waist, pulling her back. She immediately began thrashing around, hitting, kicking. Her eyes flew open in a panic as Illya turned her around, his arms still wrapped tightly around her. She was breathing hard, terrified, taking a moment to realize where she was.

“Illya,” she gasped, hugging him tightly. She burrowed her head into his chest, her entire body shaking. From the cold, maybe. But he’d also known what it was like to wake from a nightmare, those moments when it’s still so absolutely real. The storm seemed to be calming but Illya helped her below deck, out of the rain. In the hallway outside their room he kept his arms wrapped around her, her breathing  was still quick and short. She was trembling.

After a minute her breathing began relaxing and she pulled away slowly but not completely. Just enough to look up at Illya.

“What happened?” she asked. “Why was I on the deck?”

“You must have been sleepwalking,” he said. She nodded, looking down at the floor. He resisted the urge to pull her close again, to secure her in his arms and block out the image of her standing on the edge of the ship, inches away from disappearing forever.

“Do you have any other dry things to sleep in?” Illya asked. Gaby looked down, seeming to just now noticed how soaked her button up pajamas were. She shook her head. “This was the only pair in the trunk.”

“You can use one of my shirts, then,” he said, pushing open the door. Napoleon was still sound asleep in his top bunk and Pooka was waiting on her bed, running over to Gaby as soon as she appeared in the doorway. He didn’t bark, he just leapt into her damp arms and licked her face over and over again. Illya went to his trunk and tossed Gaby the largest shirt he could find. She clutched it to her chest, not really looking at anything in the room, just focusing on her breathing.

They both took separate turns changing out of their damp clothes in the dark room. Gaby slipped on Illya’s shirt, which hit her mid thigh and was surprisingly comfortable. Before Illya could open the door and see her exposed legs she climbed into bed, her damp hair weaved into a braid over one shoulder. When Illya did come back in the room he stumbled around a bit in the dark before finding his way to the makeshift bed across the room. Gaby listened as he shuffled around his suitcases.

“Illya,” she whispered. The movement stopped.

“Yes?”

“Will you…”

She paused, taking a deep shaky breath. It should not be this hard to simply ask someone for help. But she was not used to being afraid so she pressed on anyway.

“Will you come sleep over here? Just in case I…”

He was there in less than a moment, dropping his coat near the head of the bed and lying down on the ground underneath her bunk. “I’m here.”

Although she knew he couldn’t see her, she nodded.

It could have been minutes or hours later but she was still awake, unable to drift off to sleep. She couldn’t get the images out of her mind, the terror that had gripped her. The crowds suffocating her, the burning. Everything was on fire. Yelling, statues crumbling. She rolled over, able to barely make out the outline of Illya on the floor below her in the moonlight that had come when the clouds outside had cleared. He was on his back, his chest moving up and down slowly.

Gaby listened to his steady breathing until she finally fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

_In the green glow of his reliquary the image of the girl faded and the man yelled in frustration. This was twice now that his spirits had been unable to finish her off. Well, you know what they say. If you want something done right..._

_You have to do it yourself._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I didn't update last week! I was a little busy with Salt Lake Comic Con (it was awesome) but this chapter is a little bit longer so hopefully that makes up for it :) What was your favorite part of this chapter?


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